


Night That Time Forgot

by gaylax_ies



Series: Golden Days [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Halloween, How Do I Tag, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Hunk and Lance are brides men, Hunk is the best??, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, Multi, Party, Swearing, Wedding Planning, Weddings, it's all over the place, like tons of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 19:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13107294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylax_ies/pseuds/gaylax_ies
Summary: “So… at your Halloween party, I was taking care of this completely sloshed guy. And he was so fucking cute, right? But I wasn’t about to be all rapey. So I just went about my business, and I was about to leave… and he kissed me. And now I can’t stop thinking about him.”Hunk and Pidge stare at him, wide-eyed, for a moment. Lance just flushes, picking up his coffee and averting his eyes.“Whoa, talk about a Cinderella story,” Hunk breathes, “who was it?”“That’s the issue; I don’t know.”





	Night That Time Forgot

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! Sorry I suck!! I've been really behind on a lot of my writing recently; I'm a full-time student and I'm having a really hard time in school right now, please forgive me!  
> I mainly wrote this as something quick to put up in the week after Halloween, but it grew into something W A Y bigger than I thought it would. Get ready for a wild ride!!  
> Please excuse me for any errors; this isn't beta read and I'm top fucking lazy to proof it.  
> Finally, you can find me [HERE](http://gaylax-ies.tumblr.com) on my tumblr!!

“Yoo-hoo, Keith!” Allura cheers from the door, the sound of the lock clicking announcing her entrance. Keith lifts his head from the couch cushion, hastily wiping candy wrappers and crumbs off his chest and trying to act like he hasn’t eaten half a box of mini chocolate bars as Allura comes crashing into his apartment, Shiro tailing her.

“Happy Halloween!” Allura yells, skipping towards Keith excitedly. She picks the candy bowl up off his stomach and sets it on the table, eyeing the pile of wrappers on the ground disapprovingly.

“Yeah, you too,” Keith replies, sitting up and brushing his shirt off again. “Nice costumes.”

Allura beams, grabbing Shiro’s wrist and urging him to spin her. Her black skirt flares out, revealing a red underside, and her white hair is adorned with black and red streaks, small, red devil horns resting daintily on her head. Her tight, bell-sleeved black shirt and red, torn fishnets complete her outfit. She sticks her leg out and Keith catches her ankle; he’s known her long enough to know when she’s showing off her shoes.

“Louboutins?” he asks, examining the black platform stilettos. She smirks, red lips curling as she winks to show off her eye makeup. “You’re looking amazing, Lur.”

Allura bats her lashes, resting her hand on her palm delicately, showing off her engagement ring. She’s accompanied the silver band and sparkling white gems with some black and red knuckle rings and long, claw-like false nails- painted blood red, of course- but otherwise left her ring undisturbed, the pride of her accessories.

“Oh, thank you, Keith, but I know,” she says, cocking her hip confidently, “now look at Shiro. I spent so long making him beautiful. Give us a twirl, Shiro!”

Shiro sighs heavily, raising his arms and walking in a lazy circle. He’s in a white button-down rolled up to his elbows, a sleek white vest done up over it, with tight, white jeans and white dress shoes. His hair is intricately styled, curling gently over his forehead, a dainty silver halo perched on his head. He’s even wearing some makeup, soft white highlight set delicately over his cheekbones. 

“Angel and devil,” Keith exclaims, “that’s so cute, guys!” 

“Thanks, Keith,” Shiro chuckles, straightening out his vest. Allura bats at his hands.

“Stop touching it; you’re perfect,” she scolds. Shiro blushes bright pink, folding his hands behind his back. 

“I’m, umm… gonna get some water,” he stutters, turning on his heel and retreating into the kitchen. Keith and Allura make silent eye contact for a moment before they both burst out laughing. 

Once they’ve calmed down and Shiro’s returned, red-faced, from the kitchen, they all collapse on Keith’s couch. 

“So, what are you guys doing here?” he asks, muting the TV, “weren’t you guys supposed to be going to a Halloween party?”

“Yup, and that’s why we’re here!” Allura says confidently, hopping back up from the couch. “We’re going to a banging party, and you’re coming with us!”

Keith blanches, sitting up with urgency. “Um, no. Absolutely not. I’m not going to a sweaty, cramped, awful Halloween party in Hunk’s and Pidge’s crappy little house. Not gonna happen.”

“Keith, c’mon,” Shiro says, poking Keith’s ribs, “you haven’t been to a party in… ever, actually. It’s a rite of passage, and we both know Allura won’t quit until she has you in a costume and out that door. So let’s go, buddy!”

“Okay, say I agreed to come to this party with you, which I’m not, what costume would you put me in?” Keith inquires, crossing his arms over his chest as he stands to face Allura. She shrieks excitedly, bouncing across the room to pick up a plastic bag she’d left in the doorway. 

“Ta-da!” she sings as she pulls an item from it, flourishing an old, black leather jacket. She flips it around and, on the back, there’s a messily spray-painted splash of silver; ‘ _Thunderbirds’_ is written across it in Allura’s careful script.

“Am I… a Greaser?” he asks softly, stepping forward to grab the jacket. Allura nods excitedly. 

“Yeah! It’s ‘cause I know you love _Grease_ and I saw the jacket in a thrift store a little while back and I thought it’d really suit you! And, of course, I made it so that the silver on the back and be peeled off if you just want to wear the jacket, but I think it looks pretty good! And I have really nice jeans and we can gel your hair and…”

“Okay, fuck it, I’ll go!” Keith cheers, admiring the jacket with bright eyes. Allura really knows how to get him to do whatever she wants.

“Yay!” she says, kicking a foot up behind her in excitement. “Okay, okay, c’mon, I’m gonna do your hair,” she continues happily, grabbing Keith’s wrist and dragging him down the hallway towards his bathroom, Shiro trailing behind them. She sets Keith down on the stool he keeps in the corner and grabs his brush off the counter, and Keith winces as she tugs it through his hair.

“Have you been conditioning?” she chastises, and Keith makes an apologetic face in the mirror. “Jeez, Keith, you’ve got lovely hair! It’d have so much potential if you actually took care of it!”

“Sorry, Lur,” Keith says, squeezing his eyes shut as she brushes through his hair as quickly as possible. 

“Hmph,” she utters indignantly, eyeing his hair in reproach. “Shiro, can you go grab the gel from the bag?”

“I have gel,” Keith interrupts.

“Strong hold?”

“…No?”

“Shiro, proceed.”

Shiro just shrugs, turning out of the room. Keith can hear his heavy footsteps as he pads down the carpeted hallway, returning seconds later with a bottle of hair gel in hand.

“M’lady,” he chuckles, handing it over to Allura with a flourish. She smiles as she takes it, holding it in one hand as she pushes Keith’s shoulder with the other so he can’t see the mirror.

“Wha-hey!” he protests, swivelling his head. Allura clucks her tongue.

“Shut it,” she says, “I’m going to make you beautiful.”

 

It takes nearly twenty minutes of intricate styling, tons of hair gel, and more bobby pins that Keith could even count, but eventually, Allura is satisfied with what she’s created. She steps back with a happy sigh, brushing off her hands.

“You can look now,” she says, spinning Keith’s shoulders.

He takes in his hair in the mirror, more put together than he’s seen it in months, if not years. It’s sleek, gelled back close to his head, but there’s still volume on top to give his the signature Greaser look. Allura’s even artfully arranged some loose strands around his face to finish the style. Keith reaches up to touch it gently.

“Oh my god, it’s rock hard,” he chuckles upon discovery.

“It’s two full bottles of strong-hold gel,” Allura giggles in response, picking up another pin and sliding it into the hair at the back of his head. “You have so much hair it’s not even funny, Keith.”

“Yeah, that’s why I don’t brush it,” Keith replies with a smirk. Allura rolls her eyes and slaps his shoulder.

“So, I take it you like the style?” she asks, and Keith nods excitedly. 

“Dude, I love it. I’m- and I can’t believe I’m saying this- but I’m actually excited to go to that party now.”

“Yay! Oh my god, okay, let’s get you into your outfit,” Allura exclaims cheerfully, bounding down the hall to the living room. She returns instantly, the plastic bag clutched tightly in one hand. “Okay, so the jeans are cigarette and I want you to cuff the ankles at least twice. Pull the socks up under the cuffs, alright? And tuck your t-shirt in-”

“I know what a Greaser looks like, Allura,” Keith chuckles, taking the bag from her, “I’ll be back out in a minute.”

He steps back into the bathroom and strips out of his clothes, taking extra care not to disturb his hair, before dumping the contents of the bag on the ground.

“Whoa,” he breathes, examining the heap of clothing on the floor, “Allura, you bought way too much!”

“All the best for my Keith,” Allura calls back, her voice muffled through the walls. Keith shakes his head with a smile and picks up the white t-shirt, pulling it on carefully. Then he wriggles into the jeans and fastens his belt, painstakingly rolling the cuffs for Allura’s approval. He takes the sock in hand, planning to put them on later, and his jacket is still in the front room so, for now, he’s good to go.

“I’m coming out!” he calls. The a hushed chortle from his sitting room, and Shiro yells back, “proud of you.” Keith just rolls his eyes, shutting the bathroom light off before heading down the hallway.

“So, how do I look?” he asks upon entrance, cocking his head. Allura bounces up and down where she sits, clapping excitedly, and Shiro nods in appreciation.

“Oh my god, it suits you so well, holy shit, Keith,” Allura exclaims, hopping up and grabbing Keith’s jacket off the coffee table. She holds it out for him and he slips into it, straightening it up over his shoulders. Shiro wolf-whistles.

“Greased lightning!” he cheers, shooting finger guns at Keith, who laughs. He can’t keep himself from beaming; for the first time in years, he’s actually excited for Halloween. 

“Okay, okay, put your socks on. You’re wearing your Converse, yeah?” Allura says, pushing Keith towards the couch. He nods, tugging his socks on before heading to the entryway to grab his shoes. He yanks them on and Allura takes his hand, spinning him under their arms.

“We ready to go, kids?” Shiro asks, spinning his keys around his finger. “I’m DD tonight, so you can go wild.”

Allura whoops and Keith follows suit, allowing her to tug him down the hall to the elevator. He sighs happily, spirits high as he follows her into the backseat of Shiro’s car. She fusses over him, straightening out his jacket to perfect and tucking away any last minute loose strands of hair, and Keith can’t keep from beaming.

Tonight is going to be a lot of fun.

 

Bass thumps in his ears, sounding like “whup, whup, whup,” and colourful lighting flashes all around him, highlighting the bodies in the house for milliseconds at a time before they disappear into blackness again. 

His watch says three a.m, meaning that he’s been here for five hours… Shiro and Allura must be looking for him, probably ready to go home by now, but there are still so many people… they’re probably making out somewhere, it’s fine. 

His feet feel disconnected from his body, like they have a mind of their own- he tries to move one way, they try to go another.

He wants to dance.

He wants to sit down with his head between his knees.

He wants another shot.

Another shot… sounds good. Sounds like a plan. He mentally pats himself on the back. 

The walk to the kitchen feels like a marathon, and there are so many warm, sweaty bodies brushing up against him. He thinks that this is what climbing Mount Everest must feel like.

He thinks he might’ve lost his belt.

A door swings open right in front of him and he shrieks, trying to jump out of the way. His stupid feet don’t get the message, though; he topples over backwards.

There’s something solid and warm against his back, arms hooking under his armpits and holding him up.

“Whoa, there, buddy,” someone says, “you okay?”

The mystery man tries to right Keith on his feet, but he stays limp, turning to press his cheek against his chest. 

“Mmm,” he breathes, smiling softly, “warm…”

The stranger chuckles, Keith can feel it shake in his chest. “You’re a little drunk, aren’t you, man?” he asks, readjusting his grip on Keith.

“No…” Keith whispers, “of course not.”

“Of course not, dude, of course not,” the guy laughs, coaxing Keith onto his feet gently. He spins Keith slowly until they’re facing each other and smiles, the colourful lights bouncing blindingly off his white, white teeth. 

Keith has to exert real focus into not toppling over.

“I’m going to pick you up; is that okay?” the guy asks, setting a hand on Keith’s ribs to keep him stable. Keith presses his chin into his shoulder.

“At what time?” he slurs, batting his eyelashes. The guy laughs aloud, shaking his head in amusement.

“Not like that,” he chuckles, “at least, not yet. Now, come here.” He beckons Keith forward his one hand. Keith steps closer and the guy bends down slightly, grabbing Keith around the backs of his thighs and hoisting him up against his chest like an infant. Keith cuddles into him instinctually.

“Where’re we goin’?” Keith asks, knotting his fingers into the back of the guy’s shirt.

“We’re gonna get you somewhere less crowded so you can’t hurt yourself,” he replies, navigating through the dark house until he reaches a staircase. He climbs up and heads down the upstairs hallway, nudging one of the doors open with his hip. He sets Keith down softly on the bed in the centre of the room.

“Want me to help you take your shoes off?” he asks as he steps back, cocking his head. Keith nods and kicks a leg out limply, untied shoelaces dangling from his foot. The guy just laughs, grabbing Keith’s ankle and tugging his shoes off.

Once that’s done, Keith curls up in a ball on the bed.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” the guy says with a smile as he makes his way towards the door, “stay there, okay? Behave yourself.”

“Of course. I’m good. I’m a good person, a good boy, I follow… the rules…” Keith slurs, flopping over onto his stomach. The stranger chuckles as he pulls the door shut, and Keith lets his eyes slip shut.

After a few minutes, the guy comes back, setting a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You awake, sleeping beauty?”

“Nope.”

“Yeah, you are. C’mon, turn over, I got you some water,” he prompts, gently pushing on Keith’s shoulder. Keith goes limp.

“I’ll flip you,” the guy laughs. 

“Fricking try me,” Keith replies, pouting exaggeratedly and struggling to keep a smile off his face.

The guy just sighs, sounding amused, and slides his hands under Keith’s chest. He flips him over and Keith yelps in dissent.

“Had to do that the hard way,” the stranger laughs, cupping the back of Keith’s head in his hand and lifting it off the pillow. He presses something to Keith’s lips and Keith keeps his mouth closed tightly; he’s drunk, but that doesn’t mean he wants to get drugged. 

“Dude, it’s okay,” the guy says softly, “it’s just water, don’t worry. Open your eyes, okay?”

Keith’s eyelids flutter for just a second before slipping shut again, and he lets his lips fall open. He waits for water, but it doesn’t come.

“Eyes open,” the stranger urges, “c’mon, look at me. I don’t want you to choke.”

It takes unnatural effort, but Keith forces his eyelids apart. He locks his clouded gaze on the blue eyes of the man in front of him who, in turn, tips the glass in his hand to let Keith drink. Which he does, like a man dying, gulping down water with urgency until the glass runs empty.

“Feel better?” the stranger asks, slowly bringing Keith’s head back down to the pillow. He sets the glass on the side table.

“Mhmm,” Keith murmurs, nodding. The guy starts to move his hand away from Keith’s head but Keith presses back into it, trapping him in place. He struggles to sit up, hands flailing for purchase on the stranger’s body to help him.

In a calm, well lit bedroom, it’s easier for Keith to take in the man in front of him. The first thing he notices is the t-shirt: it’s white, with “Mermaid off duty” printed across the front in baby blue. He’s wearing it tucked into light blue jeans, loose and heavily destroyed. Keith blinks a bit, trying to decide if his eyes are playing tricks on him as he examines the bright blue scales peeking out from rips in the jeans, the skin around them looking red and inflamed. His eyes dart up to the guy’s face, where similar patches of scales decorate his his cheeks and neck, even peeking out under a fringe of turquoise hair.

“Is that painful?” Keith blurts without thinking, trying to wrap his head around it. The guy just laughs.

“No, not at all,” he says with a smile, shaking his head in amusement.

“They’re pretty,” Keith mumbles, blinking at them.

“Why, thank you,” the stranger replies, chuckling.

“I’m sleepy,” Keith continues, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the stranger’s shoulder.

“Because you’re drunk off your ass, probably,” he says, “who’re you here with? Anyone you can call to come pick you up?”

“Call… call my brother…” Keith whispers, shoulders slumping as he starts curling in on himself.

“Do you have your phone on you?”

“I… uh… no,” Keith answers. He’d come to that conclusion earlier in the night, realizing that he’d left his cell on the bathroom counter.

“Well, that’s a bit of a problem, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s all good,” the guy says, gently shifting Keith off his shoulder. He takes the edges of Keith’s jacket and starts sliding it off him, and Keith wraps his arms around his stomach.

“Whoa, there,” he chastises, “no, thank you.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m really sorry. I was just thinking, like… I could help you take your jacket off so it’d be more comfortable to sleep, and I could go find someone to drive you home. Wow, I really didn’t think, did I?” the guy says quickly, sounding embarrassed. He moves his hands to his own thighs. Keith spreads his arms out and wiggles his shoulders.

“Okay.”

“You sure?” the stranger asks, raising his eyebrows. Keith nods sleepily and the guy proceeds, gently pulling the jacket down Keith’s limp arms. He folds it and lays it on the end of the bed before nudging Keith onto his back, reaching across him to grab a blanket.

“Want this?” he asks, holding it up. Keith just nods, pressing his head back against the pillow. “You settled?”

“Mhmm,” Keith sighs, smiling contentedly. 

“Great. I’m going to head downstairs to see if I can find someone to collect you, okay? I’ll see you around, though,” the stranger says, moving to stand up. Keith’s arms shoot out, grabbing the collar of his shirt. “Whoa, man, you okay?”

With newfound strength, Keith pulls him down and presses their lips together.

It’s not a great kiss. They’re misaligned, Keith tastes of Fireball, and his tongue is too heavy in his mouth to be of any use to him. But it’s warm and it’s soft and the other guy has nice lips and he smells good and he’s kind, and Keith is loving this. He loops his arms eagerly around his neck. But, too soon, the stranger is pulling away.

“Whoa, dude,” he says softly, resting a hand on Keith’s ribcage to try and coax him back onto the bed. His skin is warm against Keith’s body, separated only by a thin, white t-shirt, and Keith pants, fingers digging into the stranger’s shoulders.

“Get- get over-” Keith slurs, trying weakly to pull him back down to his lips.

“Hey, man,” the stranger protests softly, “you’re drunk off your ass. So let’s not do this, okay? Just go to sleep.”

“But-”

“Nope. I’m not gonna be ‘that guy.’ Go to bed,” he insists, untangling Keith’s arms from around his neck. He presses firmly against Keith’s shoulders, keeping his back down on the mattress. “I’ll see you around, okay?” 

“Sorry,” Keith whimpers, curling over on his side with his back to the stranger.

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry about a thing,” he replies. Keith just closes his eyes, waiting to hear him leave. There are a few soft steps and the sound of leather rustling, then the door clicks shut, and Keith sighs.

 

“I think he might be dead.”

“Aw, damn.”

“What should we do with the body?”

“Maybe we should burn it?” 

Keith feels his eyelids flutter, dragging him back into consciousness, revealing the ceiling of Shiro’s guest bedroom. He resists it, not ready to get up and face the day yet. His head feels like its made of bricks, his stomach full of glass; He rockets up, leans to his left, and promptly vomits on the floor.

“Well, I guess that’s a way to wake up,” Allura says, standing up from where she’s perched at the edge of the bed and walking a few feet away. Shiro just chuckles.

“You good, Keith?” he asks, “you disappeared for a while last night; I had to swing back around Hunk’s to find you.”

“Yeah, I’m-” Keith starts. He’s cut off by a wave of nausea and he bolts out of bed, staggering to the washroom and collapsing in front of the toilet just seconds before he throws up again.

“Poor thing,” Allura coos, stepping into the washroom and leaning against the wall. “You probably had one hell of a night, and you’ve still got all that gel in your hair; that must be uncomfortable.” 

Keith nods against the toilet bowl, his chest heaving as he sputters and coughs.

“I’ll tell you what,” Allura says, “how about I help you wash that shit out of your hair, Shiro cleans up the puke on the floor, and you go back to bed. Sounds good?”

Keith nods again, shuffling back to rest against the bathtub. He closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing as Allura carefully washes his hair, putting much more effort into it than he usually does himself. When it’s done, he lets Shiro help him out of his skin-tight jeans and into pyjama pants before climbing back into bed.

His dreams are weird, snapshots of a night he can hardly remember. He sees Pidge and Hunk in their kitchen, hosting gladly, dressed as Frankenstein and his monster. He sees the top of a keg as he does a keg stand, and the glass shards from the bottle of vodka he’d dropped. He sees shot glasses and red solo cups and bodies crowding a dance floor he’d inhabited for an hour. He sees blue eyes and blue hair and scales and hands helping him take off his jacket. They feel real: the hands on his hips as he rocked on the dance floor, the arms under his legs as he was carried up the stairs, the lips on his as he kissed a stranger.

A stranger with bright blue hair, and blue eyes, and warm hands. A stranger kind enough to go out of his way and care for Keith, to keep him safe and comfortable.

Keith doesn’t know his name.

He groans, rolls over, and folds his pillow over his ears.

 

 _“Hey, Lance, you joining us for breakfast?”_ Hunk’s voice buzzes over the phone. 

“How are you up for breakfast? You threw a fucking banger yesterday,” Lance chuckles. He stretches his leg behind him, breathing in the cool air of the park. He tightens his shoelaces before setting off on his jog again.

 _“I didn’t drink,”_ Hunk replies, _“and we didn’t clean last night. Pidge and I are going to do it all this afternoon.”_

“Is Pidge going to be up for that?” Lance asks, rolling his eyes. 

 _“Probably not; she was drinking yesterday. The only reason she’s coming to breakfast is because I promised that she can get chocolate chip pancakes,”_ Hunk replies with a giggle. There’s some shuffling in the background, the sound of Hunk picking up empty cans and throwing them in a trash bag. Lance laughs.

“I’ll meet you at Bounty, yeah?” Lance pants, sprinting up the stairs that separate the park trail from the main road. Hunk makes an affirmative sound. 

 _“Is ten o’clock okay?”_ he asks. Lance nods, even though Hunk can’t see him.

“Yup.”

“Perfect.”

Hunk hangs up, and Lance puts a playlist on before slipping his phone back into the holder on his arm. He trains his eyes up the hill before him, chest heaving as he considers giving up on his jog and just walking up it. His apartment is only a little ways past the top, though, and he only has an hour and a half before he has to meet Pidge and Hunk. He sighs, steeling himself as he starts running up the hill.

He’s hoping he can sweat out all the blue staining his pores.

Those scales were a hassle.

_“They’re pretty.”_

Lance flushes, his mind flashing back to the guy he’d met last night. He’d seen him around the house a few times throughout the party; it was impossible to miss him, he was the keg-stand king. And, god, was he cute.

Lance is a professional at dealing with drunk strangers, as he’s always at parties and never gets drunk. It’s a fun duty, but he doesn’t think he’s ever had as much fun with it as he did yesterday. 

That is, of course, until the stranger had kissed him.

He’s used to people getting handsy when they’re drunk, and he’s good at avoiding situations like that. But last night, that stranger was different. He was refreshing, new. And, if he wasn’t drunk off his ass, Lance would’ve kept kissing him. 

“Jesus, Lance,” he breathes to himself, getting his gaze firmly on the road ahead of him, “you’ve never met that guy before. Don’t go falling in love.”

He tunes himself out for the rest of the run and the elevator ride to his apartment, even blasting music in the bathroom so he doesn’t have to think as he showers. He glares down at the floor of his bathtub, toeing the blue stains from the spray he’d worn last night. He’g going to have to put in some serious elbow grease to clean the pigment out of his bathroom, and his shower curtains are a lost cause. It’s annoying, but he shrugs. A little extra work is worth it for such a nice Halloween costume, and Halloween is a rad excuse to put yourself through mad abuse.

It’s still irritating, though. And he thinks his scalp is stained.

Lance sighs, shutting off the water and hopping out of the shower. He doesn’t even bother grabbing a towel, instead shaking his shoulders violently before walking ass-naked across the hallway to his bedroom, dripping water all over the floor.

“I’m a fucking heathen,” he mutters to himself, water pooling around his feet as he digs through his drawers for clothes. He yanks some random stuff out, hoping that they won’t make him look like a hot mess, and roughly pulls them on before heading back to the bathroom. He dries his hair, brushes his teeth, and moisturizes carefully. Then he leans his elbows on the sink and sighs.

“I met a cute boy yesterday,” he admits to his own reflection, “but I don’t even know his name, and I’m probably never going to see him again. Disappointing but not surprising. You’ll meet more cute boys, Lance, it’s all good.”

He winks at his reflection and finger guns, walking backwards out of the bathroom. 

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Lance says, taking his seat. He cranes his neck, eyes landing on the broad back of the guy who’d just been standing at the table, watching as he leaves with a plastic bag in hand, “who were you guys talking to?”

“Matt’s friend, Shiro,” Pidge replies, clinking her spoon in her coffee, “he’s picking up breakfast for his brother, Keith; he’s hungover as fuck.”

“Oh, mood,” Lance chuckles, “he at last night’s party?”

“Yup,” Pidge replies, “speaking of which, wanna come over and help clean?”

“Absolutely not, Pidge-o,” Lance says flatly, levelling her with a glare and leaning back in his seat. She and Hunk both sigh.

“What if I told you I already ordered you a mimosa?” Hunk asks, smirking victoriously. Lance bites his lip.

“I’ll consider it…”

“And I plan to cover your bill?”

“…Fine. I’ll be there.”

 

“You ready to go home yet? Or is there still a chance that you’ll die of alcohol poisoning?” Shiro asks, picking Keith’s plate up off the dining table. 

“I’ve been ready to go home since I woke up,” Keith counters, “you’re the one imprisoning me. I would’ve been fine if you’d dropped me off at my own apartment last night.”

“Keith, the first thing you did this morning was vomit all over my carpet.”

“… And?”

“And, if that had happened at your own apartment, you probably would’ve choked to death. I saved your life, bro,” Shiro replies, flexing his arms and sending Keith a smile.

“My hero,” Keith huffs with an eye roll.

“I know!”

“Shut the hell up, Shiro,” Allura calls from her office. Shiro deflates, shoulders dropping, and Keith collapses onto the tabletop laughing.

“Stop corrupting my fiancée, Keith,” Shiro whines, pouting. Keith just chuckles.

“I’m not the one corrupting your fiancée, she’s the one corrupting me,” he replies, getting up from the table. He stretches his arms up over his head and rolls his shoulders, relishing in the cracking sounds his spine makes.

“Fucking stop that,” Shiro mutters, sending Keith a glare. Keith just cracks his knuckles over his head. “I will fucking deck you, Keith Kogane.”

“Do it, bitch.”

Shiro charges at him and Keith ducks out of the way, sticking his foot out and hooking it around Shiro’s ankle. Shiro pitches onto the dining room table, rolling across the surface before falling unceremoniously to the floor.

“Did you just kill my husband?” Allura asks, standing in the doorway with an amused smile on her face. Keith shrugs.

“He killed himself.”

“Cool.”

“Lur…” Shiro whines from the ground beneath the table, his metal fingers just barely visible over the tabletop, “Lur, I’m dying. I’m dying. Help me, please…”

“And what’ll you do if I help you?” Allura chuckles, rolling his eyes. Shiro whines.

“I’ll do anything you want.”

“Then… perish,” Allura breathes, taking the edge of the tablecloth and throwing it over the table where it lands on Shiro, covering his face. Shiro screams.

 

Twenty minutes later, Keith is trudging back to his apartment, Fall Out Boy blasting in his ears as he regrets his decision to walk. It feels nice, though; the air is cold on his skin and the black sweater he’d borrowed from Shiro is soft and he speeds up as he nears his apartment, the prospect of falling back into bed enticing him. He stretches his arms up over his head and twists his spine, listening to it crack satisfyingly, nudging the complex’s front door open with his hip. 

“Good morning, Mr. Kogane,” the doorman says, an eyebrow raised suggestively. Keith just sighs.

“Morning,” he says, walking past him to the elevator. He collapses against the wall of the elevator, nearly toppling over when it stops moving and deposits him on his floor, and keeps his shoulder against the wall as he stomps towards his apartment. His cat twists around his feet, meowing insistently.

“Sorry, Red,” he whispers, picking him up and resting him over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen. He pours food out into the little dish and sets the cat back down. Red just eyes it, turns up his nose, and leaves the kitchen, strutting down the hallway to Keith’s bedroom. Keith chuckles. 

“You know, if you wanted to cuddle, you could’ve made it obvious right from the get-go,” he says to the empty apartment. He follows Red to the bedroom, stripping off his jeans and crawling back into bed. Red climbs up, curling around his head, tail flicking over Keith’s cheek.

Keith is out in seconds.

 

Lance people watches as he walks home from breakfast. There’s a cute lesbian couple waiting for a bus at Fourth and Main. A mother with young children walking back from Norse Park- Lance had helped her load toys back into her stroller bag. There’s a boy in a black hoodie on Altea, heading back to his apartment after what Lance assumes was a one-night stand, and a pretty girl leaving the grocery store at Ninth and Lawrence.

He tries to focus on people, but there’s only one person in his mind.

A boy with dark hair, made up in leather and black denim, violet eyes hazy and unfocused on Lance’s face. Fingers gripping weakly in Lance’s hair and soft lips pressed against his.

And, out of all the people at the party, the one occupying his thoughts is the one one he doesn’t know.

Hunk’s and Pidge’s friends are all his friends; he’s met all of them, hung out with, them, can call them by name. He knew every single person in the house, and yet he had to go obsessing over the outlier.

 _“I’ve gotta get that guy’s name,”_ he thinks to himself, turning up the walk to his apartment building, _“I can’t let a guy like that get away.”_

 

Keith wakes up eighteen hours later to the distant, incessant buzzing of his phone from his ensuite. He sighs, accidentally inhaling a blanket of cat hair, and he pitches up into a sitting position. Red goes flying from position across Keith’s forehead, hissing indignantly and hopping off the bed as Keith coughs out the fur, scowling at Red’s retreating form.

He feels like he has cement in his limbs as he slowly crawls out of bed, losing his balance immediately and crashing to the floor. He huffs, opting to crawl to the bathroom instead of attempting to stand again.

“Coming, ‘m coming,” he mutters to the empty apartment, glaring in the general direction of his phone. He slaps his counter from this position on the floor until his hand meets it and he grabs it.

32 missed calls, 98 unread texts, 12 emails, 47 Instagram directs, and a Facebook message from Shiro. He sighs at the notifications and closes his eyes, resting against the bathroom counter until his phone starts buzzing again and his ringtone flares up. He lifts his phone to his ear without bothering to check the caller.

“‘lo?” he mutters, scratching his scalp with his free hand.

 _“Oh my god,”_ Pidge says, _“you’re alive.”_

“Ugh.”

 _“Okay, mood?”_ Pidge replies, laughing, _“you good, Keith?”_

“I’m technically still breathing,” Keith mutters, sighing. Pidge chuckles again.

_“I called you twenty times today.”_

“Pidge, what the actual fuck?” Keith shrieks, eyes flying open. He growls into his empty bathroom.

_“You weren’t in class! I panicked!”_

“Oh my freaking god, Pidge, you’re the reason I have so many missed calls, you fucking dickbag.”

 _“I wanted to make sure you were still, like, breathing, and stuff,”_ Pidge replies. Keith just huffs, relaxing back against the bathroom counter.

“Well, I am,” he says, “what do you want?”

_“Wanna come over to play Dream Daddy and eat pizza with me? Get outta your drunk cave at last?”_

“What kind of pizza?” Keith asks, opening one eye. Pidge whimpers.

_“Cheese…”_

“Pidge.”

_“Fuck you right to hell, you fucking heathen.”_

“Pidge…”

_“Fucking- fucking hell! You’re a dick!”_

“Pidge!”

_“Fine! We’ll get Hawaiian and I’m gonna fucking bite your arm off and kill you in your sleep!”_

“Go right ahead, at least I got my ‘za,” Keith chuckles. Pidge screeches wordlessly.

_“Get your stupid, flat ass to my house by six or you’re uninvited!”_

“Excuse you, my ass is not flat!”

 _“Flat!”_ she yells, and then she hangs up. Keith sets his phone down, tipping his head back and laughing into his empty bathroom. Red jumps in shock, falling into the bathtub.

“Okay, mood.”

 

“Who’s are those?” Lance asks, nudging a pair of red Converse with his toe. They’re far too big to be Pidge’s, but way too small to be Hunk’s, and they’re covered in black Sharpie marks. 

“Oh, they’re Keith’s,” Hunk says nonchalantly, tugging his jacket on.

“Keith?” 

“Pidge’s friend. They’re having a sleepover, so he’ll probably be gone by the time we come back,” Hunk replies, grabbing his keys off their little hook and shoving them in his pocket. He leans further into the apartment, “Pidge! I’m going out! Do you need anything?” 

“Cheez-its!” she shouts back. Hunk rolls his eyes, snatching his wallet off a tiny table and looking in it quickly. 

“Honestly, praise God your free tonight, Lance. I don’t want to be taking my suit home on the bus,” Hunk says, locking his door behind him as he steps out of the house. Lance just shrugs.

“No problem. I need my suit too, and I’d feel back making Allura rush around helping us get our shit together; she’s already so busy.”

“Also I barely fit in her car,” Hunk admits, shrugging.

“I forgot she drove a Beetle.”

“It’s trash. It’s literally a Pidge-sized car. Last time I was in it, Allura stopped too abruptly and I kneed myself in the face.”

“That’s rough, buddy.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Lance.”

“I’m being supportive, Hunk; I’m supporting you,” Lance whines in mock offence as he climbs into his little blue sedan. Hunk huffs, amused, and slams the passenger door shut. 

“You’re the opposite of supportive,” he mutters. Lance presses his free hand to his chest in

mock offence. 

“How dare you? I am so supportive! I daresay I’m the most supportive out of all your friends! Who was it who went to the gym every single day so he’d be strong enough to carry you home when you’re drunk? Sure as shit not Pidge or Allura!”

“And that was great, Lance, but you still persist in referencing memes in my times of trouble,” Hunk says, struggling to keep a straight face. Lance eyes him the rearview mirror.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

“Lance, oh my god, stop,” Hunk giggles, his serious facade breaking down as he laughs against Lance’s car window. 

“I didn’t choose the meme life, Hunk; the meme life chose me,” Lance says, relaxing against the headrest and flexing his fingers. He smirks for Hunk’s benefit, laughing when he hears Hunk sigh deeply. 

“You ruined it,” Hunk mutters, biting back his own chuckles, “let me out of this car right now.”

“Sorry, can’t,” Lance replies, turning his head just a little to smile, broad and genuine, “we need to pick up our brides-men suits!”

Hunk immediately perks up, slapping his hands down on his knees and beaming. “Lance, holy balls, I’m so excited for this wedding. Allura picked up the bridesmaid dresses already; they’re so nice! I’m so pumped to see what the suits look like!”

“Wait, have you seen the dresses already?” Lance asks as he pulls into a parking space in front of a little bridal boutique. He turns his whole body towards Hunk, who’s already rolling through his phone. 

“Yeah, Shay sent me a picture.”

“How long have you been sleeping on this information? Holy fuck, Hunk, show me the damn photo!” Lance yells, holding out his hand expectantly. Hunk hands him his phone. The picture on screen is a mirror selfie of Shay in a long, floaty black dress, cinched at the waist with a pale pink belt. She’s beaming.

“Oh my god, it’s-”

“That’s not even the best picture,” Hunk interrupts, reaching around Lance’s hand to swipe to a new photo.

In this one, Shay’s popped an exaggerated squat while still in the dress, one leg sticking out of the long slit in her skirt as she flips the bird at the mirror, smirking.

“I _love_ her,” Lance laughs as he hands the phone back. Hunk looks at the photo with soft eyes for a moment before turning his phone off and tucking it away.

“So do I,” he says, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. Lance rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but you love her differently than I do. I love her as a friend, but you love her with that strong, sweet bod’,” Lance replies matter-of-factly. Hunk sputters, choking on laughter.

“Oh my god, Lance-”

“And speaking of strong, sweet bods, feel my thighs. I’ve been doing some hardcore leg days,” he continues, manoeuvring his leg out from his footwell and throwing it over Hunk’s thigh. With the confidence of a lifelong best friend, Hunk sets his hand on Lance’s leg and squeezes firmly, appraising.

“Oh, damn,” he says, nodding in approval, “good thighs. Still not as thick as mine, though.”

“Okay, but nobody’s thighs are as thick as yours,” Lance counters, snaking his leg back into his own seat and unlocking the car doors. 

“Okay, but what about Shiro?”

“Nah, his thighs are nowhere near as thick as yours. Your thighs are, like, god-tier thick.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Hunk whispers exaggeratedly, pretending to wipe a tear from under his eye. Lance just laughs, smacking his shoulder gently.

“Any time, buddy.”

 

“Hey, Lance, Lance, hurry up, come get a look at this fucking suit. Dude, I look so good. Oh my god, Lance, come here and look at my butt!”

“Just a sec, Hunk,” Lance calls from behind his changing room curtain, belt dangling from around his neck as he buttons his pants up. Never one for suits, it had taken him a good while to figure out how to put it on; he wasn’t about to kill his pride and ask for help. He threads his belt through his loops, leaving it dangling for the time being as he diverts his attention to the bright blue bowtie hung loosely around his neck. He fiddles with it for a second before sighing and giving up, doing up his belt quickly before stepping out of the cubicle.

“Yo, Hunk, you’re going to have to tie this thing for- whoa! Dude, you look amazing!”

Hunk is stood in front of a full-body mirror, straightening the lapels of his crisp, black suit. He beams when Lance walks up, jutting his hip out.

“So do you!” he yells excitedly, showing off for another moment before stepping forward to tie Lance’s tie. Then he leads Lance back towards the mirror, where they pose together proudly.

The suits are identical: crisp, black material, shining slightly under the boutique’s soft lighting, matte black lapels standing out against the sleek material. Underneath they have rich, black shirts, heavy and soft against their skin, and black leather dress shoes. The similarities stop at their bowties: Lance’s is blue, and Hunk’s is gold, giving their outfits a flair of personality.

“Oh my god, Hunk, we look so fucking good. Dude, we’re the hottest brides-men in history. Fuck, Hunk.”

“I _know._ Oh my god, we’re literally… so hot,” Hunk replies, stepping closer to the mirror. Lance rests on Hun’s shoulders as Hunk straightens his cuffs and pulls out his phone to snap a photo while Hunk is distracted; he photographs best when he’s distracted.

“I’m sending this to Shay.”

“Go for it.”

“Is this photo gonna get you some serious ass tonight?”

“Oh my god, Lance.”

“Alright, gentlemen,” an employee asks, stepping into the dressing area, “does everything fit correctly?” 

Hunk and Lance both strike obnoxious poses in the mirror. “It’s perfect.”

 

“You get to deal with Pidge’s wrath. She’s gonna kill you,” Keith says into his phone, paying minimal attention to the road ahead of him.

“Whatever. She can’t even reach my shoulders, what is she gonna do to me?” Shiro asks, and Keith can almost hear the eye-roll in his voice.

“Say goodbye to your kneecaps, motherfucker.”

“I already said goodbye to my arm, kneecaps are no biggie.”

Keith coughs, choking on unexpected laughter. “Oh my god, Shiro,” he wheezes.

“So yeah, no biggie,” Shiro continues, “but I won’t say goodbye to your only opportunity to pick up your best man suit before my wedding.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t’ve made me your best man,” Keith counters. He sees the boutique on the left and sighs in relief as the blue car in front of it pulls out of it’s space, leaving Keith a perfect place to park.

“You still would’ve had to pick up your suit!”

“Shit.”

“It’s a good suit, dude. Allura put a lot of work into the suits.”

“I never said it wasn’t a good suit,” Keith replies, turning his keys and pulling them from the ignition. He flops onto the steering wheel in defeat, “I’m saying that I’m gonna be a bad best man. I’m gonna trip, or flub what I’m supposed to say, or look ugly in your wedding pictures but you just have to live with it because you’re only gonna get married once, and in ten years you’re going to have Allura’s friends from the PTA over for tea and they’ll see your wedding pictures on your mantle and point to me and ask, “who’s that?” and you’ll be forced to tell them that it’s your ugly brother.”

Shiro snorts on the other end of the line. “Oh my god, Keith, that’s not gonna happen,” he chuckles, “and it’s too late to change the wedding party now-”

“Just ask Coran to take my place! He’d be overjoyed!”

“It’s too late to change the wedding party now,” Shiro repeats, “so you’re just gonna have to live with it. If I’d really thought you couldn’t do it, I’d’ve asked Matt. But I believe in you, Keith.”

“You shouldn’t,” Keith fires back, but he climbs out of the car in defeat anyway.

“Coran and Matt should already be there. They need to pick up their own suits, and they’ll help you make sure yours fits properly-”

“I can do that on my own!”

“Keith, when’s the last time you wore a suit?” Shiro counters. Keith thinks for a minute, wracking his brain, and then sighs.

“Touché,” he mutters, pulling open the heavy glass door of the wedding boutique. “I’m here. Gotta blast, Shiro.”

“Have fun!”

Keith hangs up and approaches the salesperson before he can psych himself out, palms sweating profusely.

“You here for Altea?” the man behind the counter asks. Keith nods. “Perfect. Name, please?”

“Uhh… Keith? Keith Kogane.” 

“Fantastic. There are some other members from your party here already, so you can just sit in your dressing area as I grab your suit from the back. Sit tight.” 

The salesman leaves, and Keith wanders through the boutique until he finds a room with “Altea” written in fancy script on a little chalkboard sign. He steps in to the large room, with a pedestal and mirror in the centre and four doors leading to what Keith assumes are changing rooms, one of which Coran pokes his head out of.

“Oh, Keith!” He exclaims, “Glad you could make it! I think you’ll be really impressed with the suits; Allura and Shiro have outdone themselves.”

“I bet they have. No one’s more extra than those two.”

There’s a loud, echoing chuckle from one of the other changing rooms, and Matt yells out, “fuckin’ savage!”

“Hey, Matt.”

“What’s up, Keith? How’s it going?”

“You wanna be Shiro’s best man?” Keith offers with a smirk.

“Nah, I’d just fuck it up.”

“I, for one, would love to be Shiro’s best man,” Coran interjects from his own changing room, smile lines accenting the corners of his eyes.

“Ah, bite me, Coran!” Matt calls, “I’d do better than you!”

“Quiznacking fight me, Holt!”

Matt whistles and Keith can almost see his raised brows and happy, teasing smirk.

At that moment, the salesman walks back in with a garment bag slung over his arm. He extends it out towards Keith, who takes it nervously. “There you go, sir. Hope it fits. If anything’s wrong, come find me.” He turns to leave, sending a broad smile - and a wink? - in Keith’s direction as he pulls the door closed behind him. Keith stands frozen for a second before returning his attention to his suit. He heads towards one of the empty changing rooms and hangs it up, unzipping the garment bag.

“Holy fuck,” he gasps, “there’s so much fabric.”

He stares at the suit blankly for a moment, not even daring to touch it, before exiting his dressing room and knocking on the door to Coran’s. Coran is half dressed, his suit jacket still hanging on a hook and his dress shoes in one corner, the black fabric he’s swathed in drawing all attention to his bright orange socks.

“Yes, Keith?”

“I need help,” he admits.

“With what?” Coran asks, stepping out of his dressing room and shutting the door behind him.. Keith just shrugs. 

“Everything?” 

Coran just chuckles, following Keith into his dressing room and immediately turning to his garment bag. He starts gently removing items, explaining each one to Keith as he does. Keith just watches blankly.

“Okay, you look lost,” Coran chuckles, “are you gonna need help putting all of this on and everything, too?”

“Uhh… probably?”

“Well, I trust that you know how pants work. I’ll wait outside as you get those on, okay?” 

Keith nods and Coran steps out. Then Keith turns his attention to the black pants draped over the chair in the corner. They’re intimidatingly fancy, looking nicer than any of the clothes he’s ever owned, and e’s nearly afraid to put them on. He strips out of his own clothes anyway, picking the pants up and pulling them on, wiggling them up over his hips. Then he just stares at them. They seem different from Coran’s, tighter around his hips and ass, and Keith shakes his head. He snaps a picture in the mirror.

 **_To Lur: I_ ** _mage Sent_

 **_To Lur:_ ** _you did this on purpose, didn’t you?_

 **_From Lur:_ ** _idk what you’re talking about_

 **_To Lur:_ ** _you gave me stripper pants._

 **_From Lur:_ ** _okay maybe. but your ass looks great._

 **_From Lur:_ ** _if they’re too tight you can get them let out a bit though. i just thought they’d look good on you._

 **_To Lur:_ ** _thanks lur. And idk,,,,, i think i’ll keep ‘em._

 **_To Lur:_ ** _after all, my ass looks great_

“Keith?” Coran asks, knocking lightly on his door, “you okay in there?”

“Yup, I’m good,” he replies. Coran lets himself into the dressing room.

“So you do know how to put pants on!” exclaims before getting a good look at Keith’s dress pants. “Aren’t those a little tight?”

“Yeah, Allura’s sexualizing me,” Keith replies, looking at his pants in the mirror again. “Okay, Coran, what’s the next step?”

“You’re gonna need a shirt,” Coran says, taking Keith’s shirt from the hook he’d put it on, “and it’s gotta be tucked in.”

“How the fuck do I tuck a shirt into pants this tight?”

“That’s what I’m asking, too. Try undoing your pants, flattening the shirt over your butt, and then pulling the pants on over it.”

“Smart thinking, Coran,” Keith replies, undoing his button and unzipping his fly, shimmying his pants down. He can’t bring himself to be embarrassed; Coran’s changed his diapers, he can handle seeing Keith’s ass. He slides the shirt over his shoulders and buttons it most of the way before smoothing it out over his butt, struggling to pull his pants back up without ruining it.

“Do I have any lumps?” he asks after doing his pants back up, straining to see in the mirror. Coran checks him over.

“Nope. You’re all good. Now, it’s vest time,” he replies,” handing Keith his vest. Keith pulls it on and buttons it before allowing Coran to slide his suit jacket over his shoulders.

“You forgot your belt,” Coran points out, handling it over, “put that on. I’m going to go finish getting dressed myself, and I’ll meet you out there to help you do up your tie, okay?”

“Who says I can’t do up my own tie?” Keith asks in mock offence. Coran hits him with a dead stare.

“Keith.”

“You know, I hate it when you’re right sometimes.”

Coran just smirks and sees himself out of Keith’s dressing room, and Keith busies himself with doing up his belt and smoothing out his elbows before gently tugging his black leather dress shoes on. Then he looks at himself in the mirror.

And, damn, Allura really pulled out all the stops this time, didn’t she? Keith’ll have to thanks her. With diamonds, most likely.

When he’s done admiring himself, Keith steps out of his dressing room to find Coran, who’s stood in front of Matt, tying up his bowtie.

“Hey,” Keith says as he walks up. Matt beams at him.

“Aye, Keithy! How’ve you been? It’s been forever. And damn, you look great! Coran, I think he might be even hotter than Lotor!”

“Don’t let Lotor hear that,” Coran replies, giving Matt’s tie one final tug before turning to Keith, “but I think you may be right. Keith cleans up quite nicely.”

“Thanks, guys,” Keith says happily, titling his head up to give Coran better access to his tie, “you aren’t looking too bad yourselves.  And when was Lotor here?”

“He left a few minutes before you got here. Hitched a ride with Hunk and Lance.”

“Lance?”

“One of Allura’s bride’s men,” Matt replies, “I’m surprised that you’ve never met him.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see him at the wedding,” Keith shrugs. Coran steps back, examining his handiwork and smiling.

“Go look at yourselves,” he says to Keith and Matt, smiling proudly at the two of them. They step up to the large mirror together, taking in their nearly identical black suits. The only differences are the tightness of Keith’s and their bowties: Keith’s is a rich crimson and Matt’s is a pale turquoise. 

“Wow,” Matt whispers, “Allura outdid herself.”

“Did she ever,” Keith agrees, taking in the sleek, heavy material of his suit and the pop of colour around his neck.

“You boys look amazing,” Coran says. They both wheel around to find him standing behind them, smiling fondly. HIs suit is the exact same as theirs’ minus the orange bowtie around his neck. It’s a rich, beautiful colour, like a sunset, not garishly bright, which is how Keith usually imagines orange. It’s a colour that suits Coran like nothing else.

“Oh my god, Coran,” Matt exclaims, “you’re smoking!” He whistles as he rushes forward to grab Coran’s hands, pulling him towards the mirror. They all stand together, taking selfies and complimenting one another, only interrupted when the shop assistant enters.

“Is everything alright here, gentlemen?” he asks, approaching the group. It might be Keith’s imagination, but the salesman’s eyes seem to drag gratuitously up his legs, spending extra time ogling the tight fabric around his thighs. Keith flushes a little.

“We’re all fine, young man. In fact, I’d say we look quite terrific,” Coran exclaims proudly, posing. The shop assistant giggles.

“I agree,” he says, stepping towards the group, “and everything fits all right?”

“So long as Keith’s thick ass doesn’t bust out of those pants, yeah,” Matt says, slapping Keith’s shoulder. Keith just flushes even darker.

“Are they too tight? The woman who placed the order requested we make yours a tad more form-fitting, but if it’s too much, I could let them out right now. Would you like me to check?”

“I, uhh, sure?” Keith stutters. The salesman smiles.

“Alright. And which dressing room is yours?”

Keith doesn’t speak, instead silently walking towards his room, expecting the man to follow. He does, shutting the door behind them as Keith delicately pulls off his jacket.

“So, do you have any issues moving, or are the pants just squeezing too much?” he asks, staring into Keith’s eyes.

“They’re a little tight, but I don’t think they’re too tight?” Keith replies like he’s asking a question. The salesman smiles again, a little warmer and yet a little less friendly, circling Keith. He sets his hands on Keith’s hips, sliding them down to run over his ass and, finally, hooking two fingers into the back of Keith’s waistband. Keith gasps.

“I’m going to be professional,” he says in Keith’s ear, “I don’t want to lose my job. But,” he slips his hand into the back pocket of Keith’s pants, “I’m Brendan. Feel free to call, if you’d like. And I think these pants fit you perfectly.” He squeezes Keith’s ass one more time before stepping back, resuming his professional face, and leaving the dressing room. Keith examines his red cheeks in the mirror.

It hadn’t been an unwelcome advance. Keith had been expecting it, anticipating it, even. And, in most cases, he’d immediately be pulling out the slip of paper left in his pocket and saving the number in his phone. Perhaps he’d even be making out with Brendan right now, back pressed to the mirror as Matt and Coran stood outside, wondering what was taking so long. Because Keith liked this kind of stuff; he liked attention from men, and looking good, and getting hit on, and having sex. It was fun for him. 

But today felt different.

All he could think about right now was the feeling of warm lips against his as he kissed a blue-haired stranger.

He drops the slip of paper on the floor and never turns around to pick it up again.

 

“So, Lance,” Pidge asks around a mouthful of pancakes, “why’d you gather us here today?” Hunk snaps to attention as well, eyeing Lance curiously over his orange juice. Lance sighs.“Well, I, uhhh,” he starts, eyes flickering around. It’s been a few days since he last saw them, and in those days he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the mystery boy from their party. Last night, he’d broken down, deciding to ask them for help. But, now that he’s here, he really doesn’t want to be having this conversation. Hunk smacks his shoulder gently.

“Get on with it or you have to pay the bill.”

“Yes, dad,” Lance mutters, rolling his eyes. Hunk makes an offended face and pinches his arm.

“For real, though, hurry up,” Pidge says as she curls her legs up into her seat, licking syrup off her knife, “I’m fresh outta pancakes now.”

“Eat some eggs,” Hunk instructs. Pidge huffs.

“Yes, dad.”

Hunk’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks at her incredulously, “since when am I dad? What about Shiro?”

“Shiro’s never been dad,” Pidge replies flatly, pushing eggs around her plate, “he’s vodka aunt, at most.”

“Hate to break it to you, Hunk, but you’ve adopted five children,” Lance chuckles as he spreads jam on his toast. He’s beginning to think that he’s in the clear, and that the topic of conversation has finally shifted away from him.

Of course, he could never be that lucky.

“You!” Hunk cries accusatorially, pointing an angry finger at him, “you’re not out of the spotlight yet. What did you have to talk about?”

“Hu-unk,” Lance whines, burying his head in the crook of his elbow, “I regret my decision, I’ll pay the bill. I don’t wanna talk about it…”

“Lance, pussy up, bro,” Pidge barks, waving her fork, “something’s obviously bothering you. Just tell us while we’re all here.”

“Will you still make me pay the bill?” Lance asks, only one eye visible behind his sleeve. Pidge sighs.

“No, I’ll pay it,” she huffs, “now open up.”

Lance whines, wiggling his shoulders and pouting.

“Come on, man!” Pidge yelps, throwing a super packet across the table at him. Lance shrieks, knocking it out of the air before it hits him in the cheek.

“Fine, fine, okay! Jeez,” he says, “don’t make fun of me.”

“We won’t.”

Lance sighs again, cradling his head in his hands and speaking towards the tabletop. “So you know how I’m a professional at taking care of drunk strangers, yeah?” he asks, looking around at Hunk and Pidge. They both nod. “So… at your Halloween party, I was taking care of this completely sloshed guy. And he was so fucking cute, right? But I wasn’t about to be all rapey. So I just went about my business, and I was about to leave… and he kissed me. And now I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Hunk and Pidge stare at him, wide-eyed, for a moment. Lance just flushes, picking up his coffee and averting his eyes.

“Whoa, talk about a Cinderella story,” Hunk breathes, “who was it?”

“That’s the issue; I don’t know,” Lance admits into his coffee, shoulders slumping in defeat. Pidge claps a hand over her mouth.

“You’re in love with a guy you don’t even know?” she cries, eyebrows raised his over his eyes. Lance shakes his head vehemently.

“Whoa, Pidge! Who said I was in love with him?”

“You did!” she counters, slapping her hand down on the table, “ _‘oh, he kissed me and now I think about him all the time.’_ ”

“I do not sound like that,” Lance argues, “and stop twisting my words like that!”

“Lance, that was pretty much verbatim,” Hunk says softly, setting a hand on Lance’s shoulders, “Pidge has a point.”

“Who’s side are you even on, Hunk?” Lance whines, shoving Hunk’s hands away, “ugh, leave me alone.”

“Who was it?” Pidge asks again, leaning desperately over the table.

“I told you, _I don’t know,_ ” Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away, nostrils flared.

“Well, what was he wearing?” Hunk asks curiously, cocking his head. Lance sighs.

“I dunno, uhh… he was dressed as a Greaser, I think. You know, the kind from _Grease._ ”

“Wait… you’re in love… with a Greaser?” Pidge repeats, eyes twinkling. Lance frowns.

“Yeah, that’s what I just… guys, no-”

“Hit it, Hunk!”

“ _Oh, well-a, well-a, well-a, huh!”_

_“Tell me more, tell me more- hey, does he have a car?”_

“Guys, please, stop-”

_“Tell me more, tell me more-”_

_“Did’ya get very far?”_

“Enough, guys, I’m-”

_“Summer days, drifting away, to- ah!- oh, those summer nights!”_

“I’m never telling you guys anything ever again,” Lance whines, knocking his head against the table. Hunk and Pidge quit singing and switch to cackling, drawing even more attention than they had with their song. Lance groans.

“I’m leaving,” he says, pushing his chair back. Hunk grabs his arm and keeps him in place.

“So, what’re you going to do?” he asks. Lance just sighs.

“I was hoping that you two could tell me who he was, then maybe I could connect with him,” Lance replies, shrugging.

“Sorry, dude,” Pidge says, “I don’t remember seeing anyone dressed as a Greaser. Honestly, I don’t remember much at all.”

“Hunk?”

Hunk frowns for a moment, eyes flickering to Pidge’s. “Nah, dude, I’m sorry. I can’t recall seeing a Greaser, either.”

“Maybe he was a ghost.”

“Oh, no, Pidge, don’t say that,” Hunk whines, “I don’t wanna think about ghosts in our house.”

“Guys, I didn’t fucking kiss a ghost,” Lance yelps, shaking his head at his friends, “you’re both garbage.”

“Tell us something we don’t know, Lance,” Pidge replies, rolling her eyes. Lance flips her off.

“We’ll try to help you find your sleeping beauty, Lance,” Hunk promises, “don’t worry. You’ll have your man.”

 

“Pidge, what the fuck,” Hunk asks a few hours later, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation, “it’s Keith! The Greaser was Keith! Why’d you lie to Lance like that?”

“To give him the thrill of the chase,” Pidge replies nonchalantly, gathering up materials to pour herself a bowl of Lucky Charms. Hunk snatches them out of her arms.

“That’s not dinner,” he scolds, “and what the heck do you mean, thrill of the chase?”

“I mean that he’s gonna see Keith at the wedding, fall madly in love with him, and they’ll have their little gay babies and all that shit.”

“How do you know if Keith even likes him back?”

“Keith told me! When you guys went to get your suits, Keith told me about getting drunk and kissing a boy with blue hair. He told me that this guy was stuck in his head like an ear worm. Seems like he’s just as invested in Lance as Lance is in him.”

“I don’t think we should keep this from him,” Hunk says.

“Keep what from me?” Lance asks, appearing in the kitchen doorway. Hunk jumps out of his skin, staring at Pidge with wide, panicked eyes.

“Well, we, uhh… shit, Lance, you have the worst timing,” she whines, slumping her shoulders and acting disappointed, “what are you doing here, anyway?”

“I left my sweater here a while ago,” Lance answers, eying them suspiciously, “don’t change the subject.”

Pidge sighs, pushing her glasses up. “Well, this was supposed to be a surprise, but we got tickets to take you to see Coco on Saturday. We know you’ve been wanting to go see it, so we were thinking it could be our last trio hangout before all the wedding insanity. We were going to keep it from you until the day of, but we were worried you might be busy or already have plans to see it with someone else, so Hunk and I were debating whether or not we should let you in on it. Happy? You killed the surprise.”

A shocked look overtakes Lance’s face before becoming elation, and he claps his hands together. “Really? You’re taking me to Coco? You guys are the best friends ever, oh my god, I love you two so much.”

Lance rushes forward, wrapping Pidge and Hunk in his arms. They wrap back, Hunk squeezing and lifting the other two off the ground.

“We love you, too.”

 

“You gonna be okay, buddy?” Lance asks, running a soothing hand over Hunk’s back as he leans forward with his head between his legs, looking comically large in the airplane seat. He huffs, turning his head to send a weary smile at Lance.

“Once we get through takeoff, I’ll be fine,” he pants. Lance just nods understandingly and sends a reassuring smile to the worried looking flight attendant. She smiles back, hurrying towards the back of the plane and coming back with a stack of extra air sickness bags. 

“Thank you,” Lance says warmly, and she blushes before hurrying off.

“Stop flirting with the flight attendants,” Hunk scolds. Lance rolls his eyes. 

“I absolutely was not flirting,” Lance replies, “I already told you, I’m betrothed to a drunk boy who’s name I don’t know. Also, if you’re going to vomit, vomit in a bag, not on me. And, if it makes you feel any better, the seats I picked lower our chances of dying in a plane crash by ten per cent compared to the rest of the plane!”

“Lance, buddy, you know I love you,” Hunk huffs, “but for the love of god, please shut the fuck up.”

 

“Oh, no, no, no, no… motherfuck!” Keith yells as he sprints to the gate, watching hopelessly as the flight attendants shut the door. “Please, can I get on that plane? My brother’s getting married.”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the flight attendant says, giving Keith an apologetic smile, “once the doors are closed, no one else can get on. Not even flight attendants. There’s another flight to Miami departing at 10 p.m.; guest services may be able to get you on that if you show them your ticket.”

Keith deflates a bit but nods, and she smiles at him again.

“Thanks for your help,” he says, turning around and scanning the airport to try and locate the customer service desk.

 

It takes a little while and a lot of stress, but Keith is booked into the next flight to Miami and is now sitting at the gate, listening to Fall Out Boy.

“Sup, nerd,” Pidge says, sliding Keith’s headphones off his head. He looks up in alarm before seeing her face and relaxing. “I didn’t know you were on this flight.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know I was, either,” he huffs, “I missed my other flight by, like, ten seconds. I was literally sprinting to the gate as they were closing the doors.”

“That’s rough, buddy,” Matt says from where he stands behind Pidge, overloaded with bags, a Mountain Dew in one hand.

“Well, where are you sitting? It’s a red-eye, so it’ll be pretty empty,” Pidge asks, sitting down next to him. Keith hands her his ticket.

“Aye, that’s the row in front of us!” she exclaims, “wanna switch seats with Matt and watch conspiracy theory movies with me for the whole flight?”

“Will you let me have the window?” Keith shoots back. Pidge’s jaw drops and she looks disgusted.

“Absolutely fucking not!”

“Then nope. I’ve got my own conspiracy movies downloaded, thank you very much,” he replies, turning up his nose. 

“Oh, get wrecked!” Matt chuckles, poking Pidge’s ribs. She slaps his hands and glares at Keith, but doesn’t cave. He shrugs, and she slaps his shoulder.

“Have fun sitting alone, motherfucker.”

“Oh, I will, Pidge. I fuckin’ will.”

 

“Lance! Hunk!” Allura calls as they stumble into the lobby, getting up from the seat she’d been waiting in. She wraps her arms tightly around both of their shoulders tightly, kissing their cheeks. “How are you? How was your flight? And where’s Keith?”

“It was good!” Hunk replies, stifling a yawn, “was Keith supposed to be on our flight? I never saw him.”

“He probably missed it,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “Want me to take something of yours?”

Lance hands her his backpack and Hunk passed her his satchel, which she chuckles at before following them to the reception desk. They check into their rooms and head up tiredly.

“I’m living with Matt for the time being, right?” Lance asks as they stop outside his door, waiting for him to open it. Allura nods.

“Yup,” she says, “and on the day before the wedding, he and I are switching. I’ll be staying with you, and Matt’s sleeping with Shiro.”

“Oooh,” Lance whistles sarcastically. Allura just smacks his shoulder and leads the way into his room.

“I hope you like it,” she says, “I did my best to book nice rooms and I think I did a good job. At least, ours is pretty nice…”

“Allura, it’s gorgeous!” Lance exclaims, dropping his suitcase handle and rushing towards the floaty white curtains. He yanks them open, fawning over the view of the sunset and the ocean. He spins back around at the bright hotel room, lit with a pale orange glow from the sky outside. “Damn, Lur, you’ve outdone yourself again! First the suits, then the room… I can’t wait ’til your wedding!”

Allura flushes, beaming, and Hunk steps forward and wraps his arms around her from behind, giving her a squeeze. “We’re so proud of you, Lur.”

And, just like that, she’s crying. Hunk just holds her tighter, and Lance wraps his arms around her from the front, both of them letting her cry for however long she needs.

“Thank you so much,” she sobs, fingers tight in the fabric of Lance’s t-shirt. “I just- I just out so much into this wedding and I can’t believe it’s actually happening after twenty-six years. I’m… I’m getting married, guys! I’m starting a family… I’m so happy.”

“And we’re happy for you, Lur,” Lance whispers, smoothing down her hair. He pulls back, wiping tears from her cheeks with her fingers and smiling brightly at her. She sends a watery smile back at him.

“I think I need to go to bed,” she says, looking up at the ceiling and wiping her face. Hunk and Lance both chuckle.

“Mood, honestly,” Hunk replies, unwrapping his arms from around her waist and stepping away. Allura fans her eyes delicately and smiles at him.

“So, the Holts and Keith should be coming on the next flight, and they’ll be showing up at, like, one or two? So, Lance, if Matt wakes you up, forgive him. Shay’s already here; I think she’s down on the beach? So, Hunk, if you’d like, you can go find her. And Shiro and I are in room 752 if you need us. I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. Sleep well, Lur. Try not to stress too much,” Lance giggles before suddenly perking up, “oh, and these were supposed to be a gift to relax on your wedding’s eve, but I think you might need them now.” He leans down to his suitcase and unzips the front pocket, pulling out a few clay masks, and Allura shrieks in delight.

“Oh my god! Okay, screw going to bed, we’re doing these right now! Hunk, go find Shay and join us! We’re having a pamper evening.”

Hunk chuckles, smiling fondly as he heads for the door. “Anything for you, Princess Allura.”

 

Keith is back in Hunk’s and Pidge’s house, lying in one of their guest bedrooms, warm weight on his chest. His eyes are closed, but he can almost feel his surroundings, and he knows if he opened them he’d see familiar ceiling tiles and bright blue hair as he kissed a beautiful boy. He keeps his eyes closed, instead pulling the boy firmer to him, wrapping his legs around his waist. The boy digs his fingers into Keith’s hips, teeth clamping lightly around Keith’s lower lip, and then there’s this _fucking annoying rock music…_

“Ugh, what the hell,” Keith mutters, sitting up in bed. He panics for a minute, surroundings unfamiliar to him before he remembers where he is: LA, for Shiro’s wedding tomorrow. Pidge is asleep in the bed next to him, and she grumbles and snaps, “turn that fucking shit off.”

“Pidge, it’s time for breakfast.”

“Show me where I fucking asked,” she replies, and Keith just shakes his head before shutting off his alarm. In all honesty, he could use some more sleep, too. He barely even remembers coming in last night, it was sol late. So he sets his phone back down on his bedside table and flops back down, rolling over and conking out.

 

“What do you fucking mean, you’re not having a rehearsal dinner,” Keith asks later, sitting next to Shiro on the beach. Shiro just shrugs.

“You speak English,” he replies. Keith glares.

“당신이 빌어 먹을 무슨 뜻 이죠, 당신은 리허설 저녁 식사를하지 않는?” 

“Okay, you fucking got me,” Shiro admits, putting his hands up in surrender. “And we’re not having a rehearsal dinner because we wanted the wedding to feel natural. Also, Allura would’ve had a stroke if she had to plan one more event, so we’re just gonna wing it. You’ll be fine.”

“I can’t believe you’ve lived in the same house as me for twenty fucking years and you can’t speak Korean,” Keith mutters.

“さて、あなたは日本語を話せません、あなたはたわごとです”

“What did you just fucking say?”

“Guess you’ll never know,” Shiro replies with a smirk. Keith groans and shoves his shoulder.

“I fucking hate you,” Keith groans, rolling his eyes. Then he leans against Shiro’s shoulder, sighing. “How’s the wedding going to play out, anyway?”

“So, meet my room at like, 11 a.m. to start getting ready,” Shiro replies, “the ceremony starts at three, and that’ll probably take, like, an hour. Then we’re taking pictures, and it’s cocktail hour for everyone else. Pictures’ll probably take the full hour, and we’ll have an extra half hour after to mingle with everyone and start imbibing, so it’s more like a cocktail half hour. Then there’s the reception, which kicks off with the first dance, then dinner, then some dancing, then dessert, then we get turnt. Sound good?”

“And when am I expected to make my terrible speech?”

“During the reception, after the appetizer. Shay’s going first, and you’ll be going right after.”

Keith groans. “I’m going after Shay? But she’s, like, a poet!”

“At least you aren’t speaking during the ceremony,” Shiro replies, “Coran and Lance have to do that, and Coran’s a nervous wreck.”

“Shiro, I love you, brother,” Keith says solemnly, “but if you made me speak during your wedding, I wouldn’t have even come.”

“I feel ya, bro. Imagine how I feel right now; I have to write and deliver vows. Like, literal vows. And if they aren’t good, Allura will say no.”

“Like she’d ever say no to you,” Keith replies, “how many years has it been… 17?”

“Oh, shut your fuck up.” 

“You two have been practically married ever since we moved into the same shelter as Alfor and Allura,” Keith jokes, poking Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro just sighs wistfully.

“It’s been so long since then, hasn’t it?” he asks, gazing out into the ocean, “since dad was sick and we were just two adopted kids? And since Alfor was broke and trying to protect his nephew from his brother and we just wound up together in that shitty little shared apartment, three 11 year olds, a nine year old, and… you were six, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Keith replies, leaning heavier against him.

“I can’t believe how far we’ve come,” Shiro says softly, wrapping his arms around Keith as he shakes gently, “I wish dad was here to see it. And Dante…”

“I do too.”

“Hey, motherfuckers… oh! Oh, shit, you’re having a moment. Whoops, uhh…. just imagine I was never here.”

Shiro squeezed his temples between his fingers and sighs. “Too fucking late, Lotor. Come sit down, you burnt piece of Wonderbread.”

“How fucking dare you say that to me,” Lotor asks in mock offence, spreading out a towel and flopping down on it, resting his head on Shiro’s leg.

“What kind of pansy ass bitch sits on a towel?” Keith goads, pulling Lotor’s hair. Lotor just pulls his sunglasses down his nose a tad so Keith can see his eyes.

“The kind that doesn’t want sand in their asshole.”

“Good to see you too, Lotor,” Shiro interjects, “how was your flight?”

 

“Lance, I’m literally getting married in an hour,” Allura says excitedly, staring at herself in the mirror. They’re all set to go out to the courtyard to get some early pictures in, the whole gang crowded up around the mirror. Pidge looks absolutely amazing in her black dress, cinched with a forest green ribbon, her short hair styled back elegantly. She’s even ditched her glasses and is sporting some rocking eye makeup. And Shay looks gorgeous, as always, her dress looking just like it had in the photos. Her face is glowing as she takes Pidge’s hands, spinning her playfully to the music floating through the room. Lance and Hunk look just like themselves but with the volume turned up, elegant in black, their colourful bowties adding a flair of personality.

Allura, however, is the real showstopper.

Her long, white hair is piled up about her head like a crown, secured in place with glimmering jewels. Her dress is fits her perfectly, the skirt flaring out to trail behind her and the lace overlay giving it an air of timelessness. As she stands in the mirror with Lance, she takes him through everything she has.

“So, my something old is this bracelet,” she says, gesturing to the tarnished silver cuff around her wrist, “it was mother’s, and I wanted to wear it. It just felt… right. But no time to cry off all my makeup, okay, moving on. My something new is… pretty much everything, honestly. My something borrowed is my lipstick; it’s Shay’s, I just thought it was gorgeous. And you’re my something blue.”

“Aww, Lur,” Lance coos, holding his hands over his heart, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Lance,” she says, straightening out his bowtie, “thank you for being here with me today.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Allura. I’m with you till the end.”

“Fuck, Lance, I’m gonna fucking cry.”

“Oh, no, oh… don’t?” Lance says, fanning Allura’s face with his hands. She busts out laughing and he giggles along too, and soon all of them are cackling. Pidge grabs a bottle off the counter - it looks like champagne, but the label says “sparkling juice” - and pops the cork.

“To Allura!” she yells, holding it up in the air. The rest of them call back “To Allura!”

“To all of you, for being here with me,” Allura adds, and they echo her.

“To Shiro, for finally popping the question after twenty years!” Shay giggles, and they all laugh as they repeat her.

“To today, and to family, and to a love as strong as Shiro and Allura’s,” Lance finishes, “to a love as strong as all of ours.”

They all raise their fists in the air, yelling and whistling and generally just causing a ruckus as Pidge pours and they drink.

Lance catches Allura’s eye as he downs some juice and raises his glass to her, mouthing, “to family.” She raises hers and repeats his sentiment.

 

“Keith, oh my god, what am I going to do.”

“You’re going to get married,” Keith replies, smoothing back his hair again. Shiro presses his palms firmly to his cheeks.

“I’m getting fucking married today! I can’t fucking handle this!”

“Oh, is Shiro freaking out now?” Matt asks, walking up and resting his hand on Keith’s shoulder. He nods. “Oh, c’mon, Shiro, even Coran’s calm. Get with the program, man.”

“Matt, I’m getting fucking married. In half an hour,” Shiro whimpers, pressing his hands to his eyes, shoulders caving in. Matt’s smirk softens and he wraps his arm around Shiro’s waist, turning him around.

“I’ve got this, Keith,” he says softly, leading Shiro away from the people setting up the final touches of the wedding, Lotor shouting at them to get it right. Keith watches as they head towards the break wall and sit, Matt rubbing Shiro’s back.

“Shiro’s got the jitters, eh?” Coran asks, coming up behind him. Keith nods.

“He’s majorly stressing,” he replies, sending them one last worried glance before turning around towards Coran, “what about you? And also, please tie my tie.”

Coran rolls his eyes, reaching for the bowtie strung around Keith’s neck. “I’m doing alright. I’ve come to terms with having to do my speech, and if I mess it up a little, whatever. The wedding must go on.”

“That’s… really true. Proud of you, Coran,” Keith says. Coran finishes tying his tie and pulls him into a hug, patting Keith’s back gently.

“I’m proud of you, too, Keith. I know you tend get stressed out, but you’ve really handled this commotion well. You’re here for your family when they most need you, and that’s commendable.” 

Keith presses his chin to Coran’s shoulder and holds him tight. “Shit, Coran, you’re going to make me cry.”

“Sorry, sorry… I just can’t believe two of the people I basically raised are getting married now. It’s surreal to me. I’m so… overjoyed. Your dad would be ecstatic too, Keith.”

“So would Dante,” Keith whispers, wiping his eyes before his tears have to chance to spill over, “he deserves to be here.”

“He does,” Coran replies softly, sighing, “but the world works in mysterious ways. At least I’ve got three of my children here with me.”

Keith crumples, tightening his grip around Coran and burying his face in Coran’s shoulder, and Coran rubs his back as he sobs. Keith can feel Coran’s silent tears dripping down his neck, and he knows that they both understand each other.

“What is it with weddings and making people cry?”

 

Music stars up, and Shiro takes a deep, steadying breath before he steps forward, out of the tent he’d been pacing in. The sun hits his face and he can’t see, which he counts as a blessing. Then his eyesight is back and the crowd is standing for him, family and friends watching him with smiles. He walks the flower-laden path marked in the sand. He keeps breathing, slow and deep, focusing on just moving forward, moving forward, keeping his knees from giving in. Then his eyes latch on Coran’s, and Keith’s, and Matt’s- even Lotor is smiling softly at him, eyes gleaming with pride. 

He’s got support. He’s got people. 

In five minutes, Allura will be walking down the aisle. And, an hour after that, she’ll be his wife.

He can do this.

 

Bridal music flares and Keith straightens up, folding his hands behind his back. He watches as Shiro wiggles his shoulders lightly, trying to shake off his anxiety. He’s getting married right now. 

Keith is so proud of him.

There’s movement at the bend of the aisle, and Keith’s attention returns to it, watching Hunk and Shay traverse down the aisle, arm in arm. They’re both beaming, and Keith’s gaze trails them for a moment before turning to the next pair.

He can’t describe the sound that exits his mouth but, if he tries, it’s the sound of getting punched in the chest. His jaw drops.

_“His hair is brown.”_

Keith can’t keep from staring.

Blue eyes turn to his, and Keith can tell that he knows too.

_“He’s the one.”_

It takes all of Keith’s strength to tear his eyes from the other man, forcing himself to stare at the aisle as he waits for Allura.

She’s gorgeous, as always, and he’s going to need a moment to stare at her later in the evening to take it all in. But now isn’t the time. 

His eyes turn back to the boy in the blue tie, who’s still staring at him.

_“I found you.”_

 

It’s a struggle for Keith to focus on the proceedings of the wedding. His mind is occupied with thoughts of his mystery boy, the idea that the face that’s been bouncing around in his head for months is ten feet away, staring at him.

His chest feels like it’s going to collapse.

He works mindlessly, going through the motions of watching his brother get married, doing his best to forget the maelstrom in his head and just focus on the matter at hand, and it works alright. He keeps up with the ceremony, aside from a couple of wandering, lingering glances. But he doesn’t fuck up; he hands Shiro the ring at the right time, and he remembers to stay behind to sign the marriage license with Shay and pay the officiant. 

Why won’t his mind stop fucking wandering?

Pictures are hell for him, standing so close and yet still so far away. But he grins and bears it, and even has a little fun; Shay lifts him for one of their pictures together, and he hopes the photographer snaps the shot before his face crumples up into unattractive laughter. 

He and Shay open up the doors for Shiro and Allura at the reception, standing arm in arm as the newlyweds sway to _Ahead by a Century_ , and holds Shiro’s shaking body as Allura dances with Alfor, Shay standing on his other side to rub Shiro’s back. 

 _Forever Young_ ends, and Keith is too emotional to even think about how cliché Allura’s song choice is. She steps back from Alfor, and he rubs his eyes, beaming at her as the room around them buzzes and silences again, spotlights finding Shiro at the edge of the dance floor. The MC approaches, holding out a microphone, and he straightens up and takes it.

“Hi, everyone,” he says shakily, “and thank you all for being here tonight. At most weddings, the mother-son dance would be taking place right now, but we have to do something different. So I’m going to ask everyone to have a moment of silence for everyone lost in our lives: for my biological parents, mine and Keith’s adoptive father, Allura’s mother, Coran’s son, all of whom deserved to be here tonight. So I ask that we all pause for a moment, and that we keep these people in our thoughts. Thank you,” he concludes, and turns the mic off. The lights go down and the room is dead silent; across the dance floor, Keith can see Coran’s eye glimmering with tears, a hand pressed firmly over his mouth. Keith knows he’s thinking of Dante.

So is Keith. 

He takes a few deep breaths, clutching Shay’s hand firmly, keeping his eyes closed tightly until the house lights come back up and the bridal party is called to the table. 

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch. Keith eats a mediocre salad, delivers a speech that’s good but not as good as Shay’s, scarfs down dinner and dessert, and dances a whole fucking lot. He dances with Shay first, then with Allura, and then Shay again. Finally, wedding party dances are over, and the crowd converges on the floor. Bass is bumping, and bodies are everywhere, and Keith can finally fucking sit and get a vodka cranberry. 

Or so he thinks. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand lands on his hip, a body leaning close into his ear. He spins around and…

_Blue eyes._

_It’s him._

“You’re not drunk,” he says.

“You’re not a mermaid,” Keith counters. Then he grabs his lapel and starts forcing the mystery man out of the crowd, stumbling against the wall until he finds an unlocked door. He forces him into the room - a fucking maintenance closer - and closes his lips over his.

“Wait,” the mystery man breathes, and Keith pulls back immediately.

“No good?”

“No, no, it’s good. Just, uhh… what’s your name?”

Keith giggles, shaking his head and smiling. “It’s Keith.”

“Keith! Cool, okay. I’m Lance.”

“Nice to meet you, Lance. Wanna make out now?”

“Oh, I’d love to.”

Keith jumps him, grabbing him around the back of the neck and pressing their lips together. Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s waist and hauls him up, pressing his back to the wall and leaning into him. Trailing his hands from Lance’s neck to his chest, Keith undoes his blue bowtie and flips the buttons of his shirt open, dragging his fingernails across the bare skin of his chest. Lance lowers to the ground, setting Keith on the floor against the wall and landing on all fours, hands next to Keith’s hips and body between his legs; Keith raises his knees to press against Lance’s hips, and lets himself melt into his body.

“Where have you been all this time?” Lance pants into his mouth, trailing his fingers up Keith’s stomach. He bites at Keith’s lower lip, digging his fingers into Keith’s hips.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Keith counters, tugging softly at Lance’s hair. He opens his mouth and Lance’s tongue slips in gently.

It’s been too long.

They lose track of time, and more than some of their clothes, and Keith isn’t planning on taking it up the ass in a storage cupboard but that doesn’t mean he won’t do it. They’re lying on the floor, Keith’s legs around Lance’s hips with Lance’s hands under his shirt, and Keith could honestly stay here forever.

His phone starts ringing.

“Oh, what the fuck,” he murmurs, turning his face away from Lance. He pats around on the ground, grabbing at his phone when he finally finds it.

**_Lotor Calling…_ **

“Oh my god,” he grumbles before picking up the call, “kinda busy here, shithead. What do you want?”

“You’ve gotta pick up the slack on your best man duties,” Lotor says sarcastically, loud music muddling up his words. Keith sighs.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he mutters, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He hangs up and rolls his eyes, pressing another kiss to Lance’s lips before sitting up.

“You need to leave?”

“Yup. Best manly duties, and all that shit. But… I hope we can make out again some time?” Keith asks, looking up at Lance through his lashes as he buttons his shirt up again. He feels around on the floor for his vest and pulls it on, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. Lance redresses too, leaning over Keith again when he’s finished. He kisses him softly, trailing his fingers through his hair.

“It’d be an honour.”

Keith flushes, smiling shyly, and Lance grabs his phone from where he’d left it on the floor. He opens it up to contacts and hands it to Keith, watching patiently as Keith puts his number in.

“I’ll call you,” he promises, pocketing his phone. Keith smiles even brighter, standing and patting the walls for a light switch. He pats down his suit.

“Do I look alright?”

Lance eyes him appreciatively, taking his time, and Keith’s cheeks go from pink to red. “Oh, hell yeah. Got a little dirt on your butt, though… let me get that?” Lance steps forward with no hesitation, smoothing his hands over Keith’s ass a few times, and Keith laughs.

“What there actually dirt on my butt, or did you just want to cop a feel?”

“Little bit of both,” Lance chuckles, “but for real, you looks stunning. Your suit’s all good.”

“Same to you,” Keith replies, bending to pick up their ties from the floor. He hands the blue one to Lance and they both look at them for a moment before looking up at each other.

“Hey, can you tie my-”

“Oh, no,” Lance mutters, staring at Keith with wide eyes. Keith nods.

“Big oh, no.”

“Let’s just… uhh… hope that no one pieces it together?”

“That won’t work, but it’s our only option. Now, let’s get back out there.”

Lotor sweeps Keith up in a twirling dance the second he steps out of the closet, leading him across the dance floor. 

“Did you at least manage to have sex during all your time in there?” he asks, twirling. Keith rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t about to take it up the ass in a maintenance closet,” Keith replies, refusing to tell Lotor that he’d considered it.

“I wouldn’t put it past you, you dirty slut.”

“I hope you choke,” Keith says, smiling sweetly, “now tie my tie.”

Lotor grumbles, taking his hands from Keith’s waist to do up his bowtie. Then he twirls him across the room for a moment more before releasing him out into the floor, slapping his ass and telling him to enjoy himself. Keith flips him off over his shoulder and sweeps in-between Matt and Pidge, taking her hands and twirling her.

“You finally fuck Lance?”

“Why does everyone think I had sex in a storage cupboard… wait! You fucking knew?” he yelps, spinning her aggressively. She just shrugs, twirling back towards him.

“Of course I did,” she says nonchalantly, “but what fun would it be if I’d told you?”

 “Pidge, I fucking hate you.”

“But wasn’t it fun to make out in the closet at your brother’s birthday?”

“…Okay. You have a point. I’m still mad, though,” Keith grumbles.

 

“Okay, what the actual fuck?” Lance shouts accusatorially at Hunk, pointing the bottle of vodka in his hand at him angrily. Liquid sloshes out, spilling over Lance’s wrist, and he leans down to slurp it up.

“Fuck you, Lance, stop fucking swearing,” Hunk slurs in response, lilting his own bottle into his own mouth. He’s got whiskey instead of vodka, and across the room, Pidge is nursing a bottle of gin. Keith and Lance had been sharing a vodka until Lance had starting hogging it, causing Keith to grab his own. 

They’re sprawled across Keith’s and Pidge’s hotel room at 4 a.m, drunk off their asses, yelling rowdily. Keith is curled up in Lance’s lap, body wrapped around his bottle as he clutches it close to his chest.

“I can’t believe you fucking knew who Keith was and you never fucking told me,” Lance continues to yell, glaring at Hunk, who’s sprawled across Keith’s bed.

“Well, what fun would it be if we fucking told you, you fuck nut,” Hunk replies, equally as drunk-angry, sticking his tongue out aggressively. Lance gasps in offence.

“Boys, fucking stop,” Allura growls as she walks into the room, glaring at all of them. Lance spins around.

“Lur! Baby! What are you doing in here? Should you be preparing for the dicking?” 

“Please, _please_ , never refer to sex as ‘the dicking’ ever again,” she says in exasperation, “and I fucking would be if I couldn’t hear you yelling all the way from my fucking room!”

“Sorry, Allura! Do you still love us?” Pidge asks from her arm chair, curling up meekly. Allura sighs.

“Of course I still love you. But it’s bedtime. You need to be quiet now.,” she huffs, walking across the hotel room. She wraps her arms around Pidge, hoisting her out of her chair. “C’mon. You’re gonna sleep in Matt’s room tonight, I’ll walk you. As for the rest of you,” she continues, turning to shoot them the evil eye, “Hunk, go back to your room. Shay’s waiting for you. Keith and Lance, stay here, do whatever you want, stick your dicks in each other and move ‘em around for all I care. Just be fucking quiet about it.”

Lance sticks his tongue out at her but still stretches his neck out as she walks past, signalling for a kiss on the cheek. Allura obliges and Lance hums happily, head turning lazily to watch her walk out of the room.

“Oka-ay my dudes,” Hunk says, sloshing whiskey over his hand as he flails his arms about, “I think I’m supposed to go now.” He makes no move to leave their bed however, instead taking another large gulp from his bottle.

“Hunk, go! How are Keith and me supposed to dick each other down with you in the room?” Lance whines, and Keith rolls off his lap to press his face into the floor.

“I think I’d like to see that, to be honest.”

“Hunk! What would Shay think about this voyeurism?”

“Okay, I get it, I’m going,” Hunk mutters, cheeks flushing. He holds his bottle up in defeat and shakily stands, scratching the back of his neck.

“Good riddance, Hunky,” Lance says, once again stretching his neck up for a kiss. Hunk goes full in, pressing a soft kiss to Lance’s lips before washing it down with more whiskey and heading out the door. Lance makes a face.

“Hunk tastes like a liquor store,” he says to Keith, who lazily climbs to his knees. He kisses Lance once, then twice, and settles in against his chest.

“So do you.”

“Wow, rude, Keith.”

“Just statin’ the statement,” Keith replies, bringing his own bottle to his lips.

“Keith, you’re drunk as fuck.”

“No, ‘m not. You are.”

“No, dude, you’re drunk as fuck!”

“Heck off, Lance.”

“What do you say about sticking our dicks in each other and moving them around?” Lance asks abruptly, lifting Keith as he stands. He sets Keith own on his feet and starts removing his own shirt, covered in wet patches from the alcohol he’s spilled.

“What do you say about putting our PJs on and watching River Monsters, and if we aren’t too sleepy later, then we can do the dicking?” Keith suggests, stripping out of his own pants. He accidentally kicks over his bottle and shrugs, leaving it abandoned on the floor.

“Sounds good to me,” Lance replies, stripping out of the last of his clothes and climbing into Keith’s bed. Keith is quick to follow, curling up against Lance and slapping the table until he finds the remote. He clicks the television on to a random channel, unfocused eyes not taking in what it is, and cuddles into Lance’s body heat.

“Hey, Lance,” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Nice to meet you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed that!! I'm pretty bad with writing multi-chaptered things (as you can see, RIP Smoke Signals and Easy Research (Smoke Signals ain't dead, I'm just way out of my depth writing her)), but I'd be open to maybe trying to add a second part to this if you're interested!!  
> Feel free to shoot me a comment or leave kudos!! I love knowing that you guys like what I write


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